CHAPTER 5
Standing before the kitchen table, Brygida reached out for the drowned rue flowers tangled in tendrils of flaxen hair. Before she could touch them, she paused, fingers wavering, and then let her hand fall to her side. Although she and Mama had carried her here from the lake, it seemed too intimate to touch her now, somehow.
Just hours ago, Roksana’s life had shone so brightly, a bonfire in the dark of night. And now… Now…
Curled over a table, Mama took notes in her journal, but then peered back at Roksana. Usually with every hair in place, today Mama’s dark-red wisps escaped her braid and she let them; her usual severe expression had faltered, fallen victim to lines of worry and eyes hooded in moments of grave rumination. The villagers had from time to time brought in the bodi
